she may miss a word of it. From a talk with an American girl one
comes away with the conviction that one is a brilliant
conversationalist, who can hold a charming woman spell-bound. This
may not be good for one: but while it lasts, the sensation is
pleasant.

Even the American girl cannot, on all occasions, sweep from her path
the cobwebs of old-world etiquette. Two American ladies told me a
sad tale of things that had happened to them not long ago in Dresden.
An officer of rank and standing invited them to breakfast with him on
the ice. Dames and nobles of the plus haut ton would be there. It
is a social function that occurs every Sunday morning in Dresden
during the skating season. The great lake in the Grosser Garten is
covered with all sorts and conditions of people. Prince and commoner
circle and recircle round one another. But they do not mix. The
girls were pleased. They secured the services of an elderly lady,
the widow of an analytical chemist: unfortunately, she could not
skate. They wrapped her up and put her in a sledge. While they were
in the garde robe putting on their skates, a German gentleman came up
and bowed to them.

He was a nice young man of prepossessing appearance and amiable
manners. They could not call to mind his name, but remembered having
met him, somewhere, and on more than one occasion. The American girl
is always sociable: they bowed and smiled, and said it was a fine
day. He replied with volubility, and helped them down on to the ice.
He was really most attentive. They saw their friend, the officer of
noble family, and, with the assistance of the German gentleman,
skated towards him. He glided past them. They thought that maybe he
did not know enough to stop, so they turned and skated after him.